


Private Contention

by DictionaryWrites



Series: Obedience and Instruction [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Age Difference, BDSM, Banter, Biting, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub, M/M, Marking, Masochism, Orgasm Denial, Power Dynamics, Power Play, Rough Sex, Sadism, Teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-07
Updated: 2015-03-07
Packaged: 2018-03-16 19:55:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3500891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DictionaryWrites/pseuds/DictionaryWrites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In private, Lucius and Harry tend towards mutual provocation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Private Contention

 “You've bitten my _lip_.” Harry says sharply, firmly accusative, as he pulls back, and Lucius smirks at him, red blood glistening at his own mouth.

“I suppose I have.” He says, faux apology plain on his aristocratic features. “I'm _ever_ so sorry, Potter,” Lucius' voice lowers, and then he says, “Would you like me to do it again?” Harry lets out a harsh little breath, ignoring the sharp pain in his lip, and he drags Lucius back towards his bed.

He loves nights like this, nights where he can have the other man for _hours_ , and Lucius looks as delighted as he ever looks, relish plain on his face. He throws Harry back onto his bed, and with a silent flick of his wand Harry's clothes are thrown across the room.

Lucius looks down at him, and his grey eyes flicker across Harry's body, as if searching for some evidence that Harry's _fucked_ someone else – and it's not as if it's against the _rules_ of their little encounters, but Harry still isn't sure quite how Lucius, quietly territorial as he is, would react.

Harry is patient, within reason, and after a moment's worth of Lucius looking his fill, Harry brings his left wrist up to his mouth and daubs at the red stain there, letting his blood mark the inside of his arm. It's enough: with a grace that he somehow always possesses, Lucius _lunges_ at him.

He gasps and lets sharp little noises into Lucius' mouth as the older man digs his fingernails into the flesh of Harry's thighs, leaving crescent marks in the muscled flesh, and he kisses Harry like stopping would lead to his _immediate_ death. His mouth drops, soon enough, and then he's sucking swift little marks into Harry's neck, biting at the flesh there and leaving bruises on his shoulders, teeth marks on his collar bone, and Harry just lets out sharp noises, arches his back into the touch.

“I want you to fuck me.” Harry says, and Lucius retorts with an incredulous laugh against his neck.

“I want _you_ to learn who is in control here.” and then he pulls Harry forward by the hips, making him lie back underneath Lucius, who is now between his thighs, still fully-clothed. Harry looks up at him for a few moments, meeting the burning, urgent gaze that is usually so _cold_ , and he realizes that he can't quite control his breathing.

Lucius reaches out, thumbs over Harry's chin; his lip has stopped bleeding now, but it twinges when Malfoy presses on the adjacent skin. “You're lucky I decide to fuck you at _all_ , _Mr_ Potter.” Harry shudders, because the man _knows_ how he likes it when Malfoy calls him that – there's something about the nature of it, all quietly dominant civility, and it doesn't exactly make his prick any softer. “In fact, I don't know that you deserve any _part_ of me – I ought fill you with some toy or other, leave you with a ring preventing _this_ ,” Lucius speaks in a murmur as he wraps his hand around the base of Harry's cock and _squeezes_ slightly, “from sputtering as it might like to.”

“I never knew you could use “sputter” to mean “come”.” Harry replies, and Lucius slaps him hard across the face with such force that Harry _moans_.

“Rude little _slut_.”

“That's me.” Lucius' hand begins to move rapidly on Harry, twisting with a clever little movement of his wrist, and Harry's breaths become stuttered, one of his hands grasping at the fabric of Lucius' cravat and crinkling the fabric _thoroughly_ as he tips his head back- Merlin, _God_ , that feels good, and then he _stops_ , the old _**bastard**_.

“Lucius!” Harry protests sharply, but Lucius' wand presses swiftly against his neck, quieting any further protest.

“The rules?” Lucius reminds him sleekly, and Harry lets out an irritated, sharp sound.

“You instruct, you command, I obey.”

“ _Quite_.” Lucius puts his wand a little lower, and he drags its end from the base of Harry's cock to its tip; electric sensations tingle over the sensitive skin, and Harry lets out a breathy keen of sound. He'd lost his first wand, Harry knows, but this one is similar – it's still elm, still got a core of dragon heartstring. “What do you want me to do with this wand, _Mr_ Potter?”

“I want you to put it aside and _get on_ with it.” Harry retorts. Lucius tuts and taps Harry's prick: his balls draw up as a sudden _heat_ flies over the skin, and he lets out a ragged noise that's almost a _scream_.

Lucius watches him with a sadistic delight as he squirms, so _close_ but not quite able to come, and Harry smacks him hard in the chest, unable to take the sensation. Lucius taps his flesh again and the sensation fades, but Harry's skin continues to _prickle_ with remembered pleasure. “Will that teach you not to rush me?” Lucius purrs as he leans, and Harry takes in a slow, hoarse breath.

“Probably not.” Lucius almost snickers, and then he leans, putting his mouth to the inside of Harry's knee: he has to close his eyes for this, absolutely _has_ to, because he can never take it otherwise. He can never stand it for too long when Lucius does this, because he takes far too much pleasure in it, far too much pleasure in _torturing_ Harry before they ever get on to pain.

Lucius presses slow, methodical kisses up the inside of Harry's thigh, mouth moving a _fraction_ of an inch each time, and then he drags his mouth up the flesh, breath hot on his skin, towards his cock, _yes_ \--- before bringing it back down again, in true _teasing_ fashion. He leaves marks here, too, bites at the skin and sucks marks at the crease between Harry's crotch and his thighs, and it seems to just go on for _hours_.

Harry is soon writhing, one hand fisted in the bed sheets and another desperately tangling itself in Lucius' hair, and when he _finally_ feels Lucius' breath sigh over his balls, he lets out a sharp, high noise of need.

“My _dear_ boy, will you ever learn patience?”

“I'll learn the _Killing Curse_ first, Malfoy, just _**do it**_ -” There are suddenly fingers pressing into him, warm and thick and _clever_ , and Harry _arches_ perfectly even though it makes his back ache for the awkward position. Harry _loves_ it when Lucius responds to his threats, even though both of them know he'd never mean them.

“Is this what you wanted, Mr Potter?” Harry groans and Lucius crooks his fingers. “Is this what you've been waiting for?”

“I _hate_ you.” It's not untrue: Lucius laughs. It's only a little more preparation after that, and then Lucius is on top of him, clothes suddenly absent, and he grasps tightly at Harry's hands, pinning them above his head and swiftly enchanting ropes to hold them in place, stretched uncomfortably above his head and making his shoulders _sing_ with sweet pain.

“ _Whore_.” Lucius whispers as he leans, and he _rolls_ his hips, angling them perfectly – God, Harry feels so _full_. He wraps his legs around Lucius', not caring for how hard his heels press against the flesh of Lucius' legs as he tries to pull the older man deeper, not minding the way Lucius _hisses_ at the crescent marks Harry's fingers leave at the flesh of his hips.

“Just for you.” Harry retorts, and he watches Lucius' carefully crafted expression falter slightly, because that will _honestly_ arouse him, Harry knows: _territorial_. “You love it, don't you? _Fucking_ me, fucking a man young enough to be your son, fucking a halfblood _blood_ tra- _ah-_ _ **ah**_ _-_ ” Lucius has dug his finger nails into Harry's chest, and it hurts, _Merlin_ it hurts, and it's good.

“Oh, I'm _sorry,_ ” He whispers, and his hips are thrusting with a rhythm that's making it difficult for Harry to _think_ , let alone rapport with his _instructor_ , “did that hurt, _boy_?”

“Yeah.” Harry replies breathlessly. “Do it again.” Lucius does, and when Harry comes it's with so loud a cry he thinks the Muggles in the other flats with hear it, silencing wards or not. Lucius doesn't stop, of course – one orgasm wrung out of Harry's _skinny_ little body, so he had assured Harry when they'd first begun this little tryst, was hardly enough reward for an evening's hard _work._

\---

Harry sits back later, and he lets his eyes close, but he makes no move to sleep – for one, Lucius is still _there_ , and it's rare that he'll allow that sort of weakness in front of the other man. This distinction, so Lucius tells him, is completely bizarre given what weaknesses he _will_ allow, but the older man seems a little too tired to argue the point.

Harry settles back and feels the deep-seated ache in his muscles, in the marks on his neck, chest, hips, inner thighs… It all _hurts_ , but it's a pleasant, warm pain, and he all but _basks_ in it, masochistic as he is, these days.

He listens as the other man moves to sit on the side of the bed, and he makes no complaint for the fact that he's moving away – Harry _hates_ having someone touch him lingeringly, and at least that's never a concern in this _particular_ relationship. It's nice, really it is, to be able to have sex – and sex the way he likes, the way he _really_ likes – without being expected to _cuddle_ or romance someone afterwards.

“You _do_ look a picture.” Malfoy says silkily, interrupting his reverie, and Harry opens his eyes behind his glasses, which are a not-unwelcome, cool presence on the bridge of his nose. His face is still flushed for exertion, after all, and he does feel a little _hot._ Lucius is watching him, a slight smirk twisting his features, and it irritates Harry – there's part of the Slytherin, after all, that feels a distinct _triumph_ in being able to see a man his son's age naked and spread before him, and there's a further pleasure for Malfoy in the fact that said man is Harry Potter himself.

“Why don't you _take_ a picture, Lucius? It'll last longer.” His elegantly groomed silver brows _furrow_ , and Lucius regards Harry with an undisguised perplexity, affecting him to roll his eyes. “It's a turn of phrase. You know, like with cameras? Take a picture?”

“A _Muggle_ turn of phrase, I suppose?” comes the expected retort, and Lucius makes no attempt to shroud his disgust. He never does.

“Of course. I love using Muggle phrases around you, Lucius: it always serves to _fuel_ the fire.” Harry replies, and his intent is to be antagonistic, but Lucius just lets out an amused _chuckle_. He stands, and Harry shifts onto his side, ignoring the way his legs, his arse, his shoulders, cry in protest at the movement.

“You sound like _Arthur Weasley_.” Lucius retorts as he stretches with a low grunt, and Harry _watches_ , gaze eager.

If Lucius takes triumph in seeing Harry naked, it's nothing compared to what Harry feels watching _him_. Lucius' body is nice, for a man's his age, and his arse is toned, his thighs strong – Harry suspects Malfoy Junior's early love of Quidditch was more than _slightly_ tendered by his father's skill on a broom.

But beyond Malfoy's actual _body_ , there are the marks on him – scar after scar, tattoos from Azkaban and Voldemort alike, and new marks from Harry's fingers, Harry's mouth, Harry's heels digging new bruises that look bright _purple_ on Lucius' alabaster calves. God, _Merlin_ , Harry hates the man. It's bizarre, in truth – with their relationship they have a comfortable little truce and even some _affection_ , but Harry does _despise_ him.

“You look satisfied,” Lucius says, presumably referring to the look of grim relish that had come to Harry's face when the other man had bent over to grasp at his shirt.

“You're jealous of Arthur Weasley.” is Harry's retort, and Lucius' white knuckles go even _whiter_ on the silken fabric of his blouse.

“Excuse me?” He speaks sharply, each tone carefully _clipped_ and enunciated, like he always talks when Harry hits on information Lucius hasn't divulged of his own accord.

“You're jealous of him.” Harry repeats, and he shifts to lie on his belly, resting his chin upon the backs of his hands and looking up at him with a blandly _insipid_ expression. He's pretty _sure_ what he's saying is true, and so he keeps going, because provoking Lucius is enjoyable at the best of times, but it's _really_ fun when Lucius has a chance of revealing something stupid. It's rare that he does, of course – he's more a Slytherin than Harry ever was – but Harry can still _hope._ “You wish you had as many children as he did, and you wish you were as happy as he is, and you wish you had a big family of bright-eyed-”

“Don't be _obscene._ ” Lucius interrupts with a _sneer_. “Me, jealous of that _Muggle-loving_ fool. Why would I ever want for such a _brood_ -”

“Because peacocks _like_ broods, Lucius. It's what fancy birds _do.”_ Within a second Lucius' hand is clasped about Harry's jaw, and he _squeezes_ , thumb and forefinger forcing Harry's mouth open as he looks up at the older man; Harry's neck _twinges_ for the permission, pushed back as it is against his back, but Harry makes no complaint.

Lucius stares down at him, grey eyes piercing. “Dunno why you're so sensitive.” Harry says, knowing full well he's pushing his luck. Lucius is still naked, below the waist, his shirt loose over his chest because he'd only managed to do up two buttons before losing his temper. “S'not like I'm gonna tell anyone.” Lucius' lips thin.

Harry opens his mouth to say something, but Lucius throws him back – he's ever so _strong_ , for a man who relies on magic for everything from ironing his shirts to stirring his tea – and before Harry can think Lucius' hand is around his neck, pinning him quite properly to the mattress.

Harry does his best not to display too much pleasure in it.

“You are the most _insolent,_ obnoxiously pretty thing I've ever had the misfortune of sharing a bed with.” Lucius says, and Harry gleans that it's a compliment more from his _tone_ as opposed to his phrasing. “You are hardly as _dim_ as one might suspect, you know.”

“Thanks. I try.” He chokes out a breath when Lucius squeezes, and then he offers a feeble smile. “You're not as stupid as you're cabbage-looking.” Malfoy is so confused by _that_ one that he lets Harry go, his expression one of pure affront.

“ _Pardon_?” Harry sniggers, but Lucius' confusion remains plain on his face, and Harry grasps the crisp, white front of his shirt, pulling him down and catching him in a quick and somewhat _spontaneous_ kiss. He _hates_ the man on some level, yes, but it makes Lucius' tongue no less skilled at making Harry _whimper_ against his lips. “Should I gather, _Mr_ Potter,” Harry shivers, and Lucius' lip twitches. “That this display of _disrespect_ is made in hopes that I'll stay a while longer?”

“Depends.” Harry murmurs. “How's it working?” Lucius can't stay – he has work to do in the morning, and even if he _were_ to stay any for any more time, it'd only be effort later on in splitting the bed so they couldn't comfortably sleep separately. Harry doesn't mind, not really – it's not like he's gone without being satiated.

“Hmph.” Lucius huffs, but it's done with an _affectionate_ sort of amusement, and he pats Harry's cheek before standing off the bed, tapping his shirt front with his wand to affect the rest of the buttons to work. Harry watches him dress, watches him layer shirt with vest with cravat with jacket with _robe_ , and it's a ridiculously intricate set-up, it really is, but for some reason Harry never tires of watching its construction. “Lunch on Tuesday?” Lucius asks, arching an eyebrow as if to pretend he's asking for Harry's benefit – Malfoy loves their lunches far more than Harry himself, he suspects, though that accusation would be personal enough that Malfoy would leave immediately and potentially not return.

“Sounds good.” Harry replies. It's a perfectly clandestine thing between them, of course, so he'll need to put some sort of _excuse_ in place – Lucius Malfoy, thankfully enough, is a big enough name in the Ministry that he can always pull out some tale about political inquiries. “See you.”

“Oh, and, _Harry_ ,” Harry can never decide what makes him more excited: Lucius calling him Mr _Potter_ and looking down at him over the bridge of his nose, or Lucius looking at him like this, conversationally, equally, and using his first name. Both are something of a _rush._ “I don't suppose I ought remind you you aren't to pleasure yourself in my absence?”

Harry _scowls_ at him, and Lucius _beams_. “I don't suppose you do, no.” Harry answers irritably. It's a frustrating rule of their interaction, but he could always _break_ it if he chose to – and in truth, these rules and little determinations are precisely the reason he fucks Malfoy rather than some girl his own age. There are benefits to Malfoy, after all – he's rough, and he hurts Harry but wouldn't dare _kill_ him; he's older, more experienced, knows how to do it properly; his political placement and his _gender_ mean he'd be equally humiliated if their relationship were to be revealed in _the Prophet_ and, most importantly of all, he has a sort of _magnetic_ beauty Harry cannot _help_ but be drawn to, like a moth to a candle.

“Good, good. It always does please me, after all, my _dear_ young man, to see you desperate for my touch.”

“When have I _ever_ been “desperate for your touch”, Lucius?” Harry asks mockingly, but the provocation doesn't hit. Lucius just _smiles_.

“Why, whenever I _have_ touched you, so far.” The flush that had slowly faded rapidly returns to Harry's cheeks, and Lucius smirks.

“Good evening, Harry. _Sweet_ dreams.”

“Good night. Give Narcissa a kiss from me.” Lucius abruptly bares his teeth in a sudden snarl, but seeing Harry's expression of relish at having drawn out such a reaction, he simply _hums_ rather than saying something grating, and moves out of Harry's flat to Apparate home. 

**Author's Note:**

> There's a link [right here](https://hpkinkmeme.dreamwidth.org) to the new Harry Potter Kink Meme, an anonymous prompt and fill meme hosted on Dreamwidth. I fill prompts here on the meme, and it's a lot of fun, so if there's anything you feel like prompting to the anonymous world of HP Kink, go right ahead!


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